Page 13 of The Space He Left
Harper
The grocery store felt like a gauntlet.
I'd been coming to Willowbrook Market ever since I moved to town. Mrs. Whitaker, behind the deli counter, always asked about my latest design projects. The teenage baggers knew to use paper, not plastic, because I composted. The store manager, Mr. Reed, had popped out from his office to congratulate me when I'd started showing.
Today, everything felt different.
I pushed my cart through the produce section, my hand resting on the curve of my belly where our daughter was growing stronger every day. My belly had stayed flat for the first month or so, suddenly popping out almost overnight. At eight months, the pregnancy was now very obvious, beautiful, and, apparently, the subject of considerable town speculation.
"...keeps rushing off to the city..."
The whisper came from behind the apple display, where two women I recognized from various community events were examining fruit with theatrical concentration.
"...poor thing, having to do everything alone..."
"...on their anniversary, can you believe it?"
I selected a bag of apples with deliberate care, refusing to acknowledge that they were talking about me. About Jack. About the fact that my husband had been spending more time in the city than at home lately.
"Harper, dear!"
I turned to see Mrs. Finlayson approaching, her expression warm but edged with something that might have been pity. She'd worked at the grocery store for twenty years and knew everyone in town, which made her both a valuable friend and a dangerous person to disappoint.
"How are you feeling, sweetie? You look... tired."
"I'm fine, Mrs. Finlayson. Just the usual pregnancy stuff." I smiled, hoping it looked genuine. "Baby's been keeping me up at night with all her moving around."
"And Jack? How's he handling the countdown to fatherhood?"
The question was innocent enough, but I caught the way her eyes searched my face, looking for something I wasn't sure I wanted to give her.
"He's doing well. Busy with work, but excited about the baby." The words came automatically, the same explanation I'd been giving for weeks now.
"That's wonderful. Men sometimes get nervous as the due date approaches." She patted my arm gently. "You know, if you ever need anything... my daughter went through the same thing when her husband was deployed."
The comparison to military deployment felt both generous and pointed. Mrs. Finlayson was offering support while also acknowledging that Jack's absence over the last month was noticeable, problematic, worth commenting on.
"Thank you. That's very kind, but Jack's been great. He's just helping a friend through a difficult time."
"Of course, dear. That's what good men do."
But there was something in her tone that suggested she thought good men also stayed home with their pregnant wives. It was a thought I’d had myself, a little flicker of resentment I’d quickly extinguished. I was just tired, I told myself. With the baby pressing on my lungs and my energy at an all-time low, I slept more than I was awake. It wasn't fair to blame Jack for being absent when I was barely present myself. It had to be the hormones.
I moved through the store with growing awareness of the looks, the whispers, the careful way people approached me. The checkout clerk, a young woman named Louise who'd always been friendly, packed my groceries with extra care and avoided eye contact.
"How's everything going, Mrs. Henderson?" she asked, her voice gentle in a way that suggested she thought things weren't going well at all.
"Great, thank you."
"That's good. My sister's about as far along as you are with her third baby, and she says the last few weeks are the hardest. Lucky she has her husband to help with everything."
The comment felt like a small knife, precise and unavoidable. Louise wasn't being malicious. She was being kind in the way that people are kind when they're trying to acknowledge difficult circumstances without directly confronting them.
"I'm sure she appreciates the support," I said, handing over my credit card.
"Oh, she does. He goes to every appointment, helps with the nursery, and does all the heavy lifting. She keeps saying she doesn't know what she'd do without him."
I nodded, feeling the weight of comparison settling on my shoulders. Other women had husbands who went to every appointment. Other women had partners who helped with nursery preparation. Other women didn't have to explain where their husbands were every time they went to the grocery store.
